


Don't Stop (Will You Fall a Little More?)

by sindubu



Category: Mamamoo
Genre: F/F, bonus points if you can spot the side ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5408207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sindubu/pseuds/sindubu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yah,” Yongsun rolls her eyes, “This isn’t a moment, you know. I’m not an easy girl.”</p><p>Or, Yongsun doesn’t fall for greasy tricks, she’ll have you know. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Stop (Will You Fall a Little More?)

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from snsd's "talk talk," and if any of the characterizations seemed off, it's probably because i got into mamamoo about 48 hours ago and it's been awhile since i stayed up starting and finishing a fic in one go, hahaha. thanks for reading in advance!

Fact: when Yongsun doesn’t sleep, neither does Moonbyul. Call it practice turned to habit, but when their leader gets up to stretch after turning off the television, she gets up too, careful not to disturb the younger ones curled up together on the bed.

Wheein snores and Hwasa kicks at her in her sleep, and she snorts.

“Awake?” Moonbyul asks, squinting a little in the dim light of the dorm to meet Yongsun’s eyes.

Fact: Yongsun suggests walking along the Han River first, okay, so it’s not always her. There’s always a degree of give and take with them, a little more to the way Yongsun hides her face when Moonbyul calls her pretty.

She kicks at the ground when they sit, backs pressed against a lonely bench. She tugs the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, fingers cold even when she folds them into fists.

Yongsun complains. “You’re going to stretch them out,” she huffs, pulling her hands into her lap. Yongsun is warm, campfire embers in her eyes even as she scolds, and Moonbyul has never been more thankful for winter nights and the way Yongsun has always shared what’s hers.

“If you say I’m ‘like the sun,’” Yongsun starts abruptly, warning in her tone, “I’ll throw you into the river myself, Byul-ah.”

Moonbyul pouts, then nods. “Yes, Kim Yongsun-sshi,” she hums, tangling their fingers together as Yongsun raises a brow at her. She’s always been a bit of an opportunist at heart.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she adds, though, “And if I was, it’d be better material than that. What do you think I am?”

“Gross.” Yongsun deadpans. “Disgusting. A little smelly, too.” But she doesn’t move when Moonbyul leans her head on the older girl’s shoulder -- she smiles; Moonbyul can feel it pressed against her hair.

“Ahh, but what is this?” Moonbyul laughs, mouth muffling her words against a knit sweater, and Yongsun ignores the way she can almost feel the impression of her lips against her skin, the slightest bit of pressure and the flip in her stomach. 

“Yah,” Yongsun rolls her eyes, “This isn’t a moment, you know. I’m not an easy girl.”

There’s a long stretch of silence that follows, so long that she wonders if the girl actually took offense to her words, but then she speaks, breath tickling Yongsun’s neck and she shivers.

“This isn’t a moment,” Moonbyul agrees sleepily, closing her eyes. Yongsun doesn’t have the heart to wake her until sunrise.

\---

“I love you,” Moonbyul declares. “I love you so much I’m sick with it.”

 _“I’m_ going to be sick,” Yongsun mutters loudly from the backseat, next to Hwasa who’s sleeping soundly, neck pillow and all.

“Sorry, unnie,” Wheein flashes her a dimple, handing over her own order as she settles back into her seat. Their manager unnie double checks from the front that they’re all buckled up before taking off from the gas station; there isn’t much to watch yet because it’s too early -- the sun is still dozing, Yongsun figures. It’ll be awhile until they reach the countryside for their performance today.

“I love you,” Moonbyul murmurs, fingers curled around her coffee. Her eyes are hooded, makeup already done like the rest of them at an ungodly hour earlier, and --

“You look really ugly right now,” Yongsun says. “Do something useful with your mouth and drink your coffee.”

Moonbyul looks up from her cup, as though she’d just noticed her presence. “Oh,” Moonbyul blinks, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek, and Yongsun forgets to blow on her drink as she narrowly avoids burning her tongue. “Do you think about my mouth often, unnie?”

Wheein squeaks, looking back and forth between them, and Yongsun settles back into her seat.

“It’s too early for you.” She scrunches her nose.

She laughs. “You drink _your_ coffee,” the girl shoots back, bemused, “You’re the most cranky without it.”

Moonbyul trades jokes and plays games with Wheein the entire car ride, and Yongsun has to wait ten minutes for her drink to cool down enough, but when she sips at it again, it tastes sweet and the flavor lingers. 

She finds out from Wheein later that Moonbyul had suggested a raspberry flavor shot in her drink, and she doesn’t know why, but when she falls asleep, she dreams of the color red -- of raspberries, of the color of Moonbyul’s shirt, of her mouth curled in a smile.

\---

They really don’t have moments.

She’s not the jealous type, for one, so she joins in on Hwasa and Wheein’s oooh’s and aaah’s (and the obligatory _um_ and _yeah_ tacked onto the beginning and end, because they know how to promote themselves, though terribly) when Moonbyul gets cornered on their next radio show.

_“Moonbyul-sshi! If you were stranded on an island and could only bring one other person, would it be your sunbae, Krystal-sshi?”_

Yongsun only grins. “Don’t be shy, Byul-ah,” she teases as the other girl holds her face in her hands.

“Yeah, unnie, you’re never shy about talking about Krystal sunbaenim at home!”

“Didn’t you keep buying copies of their last album until you got her photocard?”

Moonbyul glares, but the two kids fall over each other laughing. Yongsun’s grin stretches wider. They’ve grown up well. They’re not promoting right now, either, so she makes a mental note to ask their manager unnie if they can get ice cream after this. Her treat, of course.

“A-ah, really,” Moonbyul uncovers her face, flushed pink as she forgets to lean into the mic, which only flusters her more. Wheein and Hwasa don’t forget to mention it to the listeners -- it’s not a viewable radio show today, and their fans should know these things.

“Byul-ah,” Yongsun prompts, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Moonbyul stares a little.

She clears her throat. “Ah, well, but if it’s Moonbyul,” she replies slowly, face returning to its normal color, and it’s never good when she refers to herself in third person, because then she says: “it has to be Solar unnie.”

Yongsun’s mouth hangs open unattractively, and Wheein laughs as Hwasa adds an indignant, “What about us?” They start bickering that just falls deaf to Yongsun’s own ears because _who says things like that? Moon Byulyi._

“Greasy,” Yongsun tells the listeners above Hwasa passionately asking if Moonbyul would rescue her or Wheein if they both fell into a river at the same time, “This is why I call you greasy.”

(“If I can’t rescue you both, I’d let you drown together,” Moonbyul decides firmly, gaze fixed on the younger duo, but Yongsun swears she heard what she said when the tips of her ears turn red.)

\---

She wonders what other people would say if they ever had the view of Moonbyul stumbling into the kitchen just moments after sunrise, when the sun isn’t awake yet either but still shining rays of light from the window into the room, casting everything in a soft yellow glow.

Her hair is sticking up, and there’s a line on her face from her pillow, and it’s all very cute but Yongsun just purses her lips and hides her smile in a: “What are you doing up?”

Moonbyul yawns, not bothering to cover her mouth as she lifts herself onto the stool and she watches Yongsun tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, nose smudged with flour.

“You’re up,” she replies simply, blinking as her vision adjusts to focus. “What’s that?”

“Cookies.” Yongsun frowns. “Or, they will be. I want to ice them later and dress them up like little melted snowmen, it’ll be cute.”

“Oh,” Moonbyul tilts her head, then brightens, “Is this why you asked Wheein to ask Seulgi to ask Wendy for her sugar cookie recipe?”

She blushes. “I’m not as close with them as you three are,” she admits, caught, “There’s an age gap, not including Irene.” It helps that they’re the same age, as well as the leaders of a bunch of kids, Yongsun thinks.

“I’m not as young as them,” Moonbyul points out with a frown, “Only a year younger than you and Irene unnie.”

“I caught you eating whipped cream out of a can after we finished promotions, and when I asked you why, you said it was because you were finally free until our next diet.”

She pauses. “Listen, a girl can go crazy without processed sugar.”

Yongsun rolls her eyes. “Well, hopefully this stops you and the others from robbing a bakery,” she teases, kneading the dough with her hands and deciding it’s about the right texture she wants. “If we hurry, we can get them done before Wheein and Hwasa wake up.”

“We?” Moonbyul’s eyebrows furrow.

“I’ll let you scrape the bowl with a spoon after for leftovers,” Yongsun sing-songs, and Moonbyul is out of her seat and pushing her sleeves to her elbows. 

She laughs, pleased, and they ease into a comfortable silence, rolling dough with their hands and setting them onto a baking sheet. 

“Are you going to eat with me this time?” Moonbyul asks after awhile, and Yongsun looks up, surprised. “Or are you just going to sit and watch like that time you made me breakfast?”

“Yah,” she tries to glare. “I was on a diet!”

“It was sweet,” Moonbyul teases gently, eyes glimmering, “Weird, but sweet. I felt very looked after.”

“That’s because you need looking after to begin with,” Yongsun shoots back.

“My mother always tells me to find someone who can take care of me well,” Moonbyul stops, a piece of cookie dough flattening between her palms. She starts rolling it into a ball shape again, looking down at the sheet. “I think she’s right.”

Yongsun’s mouth opens and closes in a perfect imitation of a goldfish, and no matter how many times Moonbyul does this, she thinks, she’s never able to stop her reaction. She finds her words eventually, at the very least. “Are you even aware of the things that come out of your mouth?” She holds a ball of dough up to her eyes and sighs when it’s lopsided, rolls it over again a second time.

Moonbyul just keeps working. “Are you?” she questions back, casual and light. 

“Am I…?” They finish enough cookies to fill two whole baking sheets, so she moves them out of the way. There’s only a little dough left for the third sheet. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying,” Moonbyul starts, rolling out one perfect ball of dough at a time, two or three for one of her own, “When I say nice things about you or call you pretty, you just tell me to be quiet or that I’m being weird again out of nowhere.” She finishes her last one, placing it onto her sheet, and she looks at her hands.

“It’s like you don’t want to believe how pretty you are, or,” she looks up, and something in her gaze is heavy enough for its own gravitational pull, and Yongsun isn’t sure how they ended up face to face like this, “that I’m the one calling you pretty. And meaning it.”

“You’re doing it again,” Yongsun says lowly, heat rising to her cheeks. “Byul-ah -- ”

Moonbyul laughs. “Look at you,” she grins, happy, “You call me every dirty word in the dictionary, but you -- ” She presses her palms against her face, bits of egg and flour and sugar covering where Moonbyul touches. “ -- are just a cute, sticky sap. You love it!”

“I’m going to take a shower!” She announces over her shoulder as she walks away, Yongsun’s heart stuttering and her mind reeling. “Save me the leftover cookie dough!”

Later, when they’re all watching Christmas specials on TV and eating freshly baked cookies, Yongsun can’t help but notice that Moonbyul always reaches for her lopsided, not quite perfect ones over the others. She can’t quite pretend it doesn’t make her smile a little on the inside and out, too, something warmer than a fireplace in her chest.

She still makes Moonbyul do the dishes, though.

\---

They have a special stage for Christmas along with a handful of other groups, and they end up sharing a dressing room with Red Velvet. It’s exactly as wonderful and chaotic as it sounds.

Yongsun gets the chance to thank Wendy properly for her recipe, and the younger girl beams when she learns it all worked out before excusing herself; the maknaes of their groups are in the middle of a handstand contest with Wheein, Joy, and Seulgi cheering them on. Both look a little pale, and Yongsun coughs a laugh as she overhears Wendy chastising them with phrases like _blood circulation_ and _what happened to arm wrestling contests_ which is promptly met with, _no one arm wrestles anymore because you always win, unnie_ from Joy. 

Their managers are talking -- probably about early retirement, she thinks, as Moonbyul sneaks back into the room with soda and snacks.

“We’re probably never sharing a dressing room again,” a voice from her left says, amused, and Yongsun turns and bows her head at Irene with a smile, shoulders relaxing.

“Probably,” she agrees with a nod, and there’s a crash that causes both of them to look over. Yeri and Hwasa are sprawled on the floor in hysterics, doubling over and leaning on each other. They’re most likely fine, but Yongsun feels better when Wendy looks them over for bruises or scrapes. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Moonbyul share pepero with Joy.

“Wendy’s better with them,” Irene makes a face, “It’s better I don't go over there, or I’d just smack Yeri over the head for being dumb. Hwasa, too, maybe?”

Yongsun chuckles. “The difference between them is that Hwasa would hit you back,” she responds with a snort, then glances at Wendy again. “She _is_ good with them, though.”

“In the beginning, I felt like she would have made the better leader,” confesses Irene, features softening as Yongsun turns to her. “Now I figure I’m just lucky to have her in the group, period.”

She bites her lip. There is something simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar about the way Irene talks about Wendy. She stores the words away in her memory for safe keeping to think about another time.

\---

Fact: when Yongsun doesn’t sleep, neither does Moonbyul. The same goes in reverse, but it’s news to her as she’s awoken by the other girl carefully jostling her in her bed. She gets up with only slight protest, because she doesn’t want to wake Hwasa sleeping nearby and Moonbyul is looking at her strangely.

“What couldn’t wait until morning -- ” she stops, nearly tripping over her own feet as Moonbyul tugs on her wrist forward toward the balcony. “Yah, Byul-ah, just what are you -- ”

She doesn’t have much of a choice when she’s literally pulled onto the freezing wooden panel underneath her feet, and at least, Yongsun thinks, she remembered to put her slippers on. She blinks when something soft and cold lands on her nose.

“It’s snowing,” Moonbyul announces quietly, like she’s proud but still trying to contain herself. “It’s the first snow.”

Yongsun tilts her head before she blinks and remembers all the dramas Hwasa’s gotten them to watch, and all the love songs she’s listened to about this time of year and the snow but _especially_ the first snow and --

“Byul-ah,” she says, unsure. She’s at a loss for words but just saying her name feels like a complete sentence all on its own, maybe a question, too, about the flutter of hope in her chest.

“You can’t call me greasy,” Moonbyul narrows her eyes, “This is romantic. It’s staring you right in the face, okay, this is romantic, and if you think it’s not, then romance could slap you in the face and you’d probably try to sue instead.”

She laughs, but it’s still hesitant, and she wrings her hands together nervously. “I’m cold,” she says. Yongsun doesn’t notice Moonbyul’s fully dressed until the girl opens her coat and steps forward, tucking her inside into her warmth.

“I think I’ve seen the male lead do this in a drama,” Yongsun breathes, disbelieving. She’s dreaming, she must be.

“It’s not greasy, though,” Moonbyul huffs against her, and going back and forth like this isn’t like a drama necessarily, one of them -- her -- still in cow pajamas and messy, uncombed hair.

“Cheesy,” she replies, because, well, she doesn’t like to lose, either.

“Sweet,” says Moonbyul in defense, a little grumpy now, and Yongsun buries her face into her neck to stop herself from laughing again.

“Weird, but sweet,” adds Yongsun teasingly, because she remembers -- what doesn’t she remember about Moonbyul -- and smiles now, too.

Moonbyul grins, and Yongsun knows she remembers the morning in the kitchen as well.

“Do you feel looked after?”

Yongsun pretends to think. “A little,” she concedes, and then: “I hear you should find someone who makes you feel looked after.”

Moonbyul shifts, and it takes a second for Yongsun to realize she’s guiding them in circles -- dancing, as specks of snow fall down all around them. It takes another second for her to hear her breathe into her ear --

“Found you.”


End file.
